


Uneven Tables

by AnotherLoser



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Drug Use, Homophobic Language, Pre series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7486392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherLoser/pseuds/AnotherLoser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lincoln heats up freezer meals for dinner.  Michael doesn't move from the couch.  He almost did, and probably could, but Lincoln said not to bother.  He coddles Michael when this happens, no matter how tired he seems to be with taking care of his little brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He's not sure if it was easier or harder as he got older. This.. Condition of his, tended to make things difficult. Every detail of every thing that he came in contact with perceived, sometimes distracting him from the situation or conversation. That part he's gotten better with over the years, learned to function with and manage. Michael was good about not tuning things out when his attention was drawn elsewhere.

That didn't mean he didn't have his moments lost in thought. In school it wasn't really noticed, because he wasn't really noticed either other than as some brooding nerd, and he had an easier time staying focused in school. On his own was the trouble, because that meant home and home meant a fifty-fifty chance of not really being alone. Previously there were foster families - the second was actually quite nice, even if they didn't understand, but they did what they could until Lincoln became too much trouble. The one before that... Lincoln wasn't around for that one. That man definitely didn't even try to understand Michael's head, but in his defense, no one really could - and he didn't want to be off-putting and distant so rather than spend time alone intentionally, wether the house was empty or not he'd hover in the living room. He can't entirely blame Linc for their being kicked out. It must have been unsettling to come home and find a boy you don't know much at all studying the stitching of the couch cushions. He's gotten better since then.

Not that his mind ever got better. He handled it better though. So long as he was a functioning human; able to interact and take care and hide his strangeness just as well as anyone else, it didn't really matter what was going on in his head.

Lincoln doesn't ask about it. Michael isn't sure he remembers any time his brother did question him. He just accepted that it's how Michael was, even if doing so with his current thoughts on the matter on full display via his facial expression. Michael appreciated it. He didn't want to talk about it when he was questioning himself enough on his own. He questioned everything, why would he himself not be on the list?

The biggest problem was that there were too many questions, too much input, too much life. The world was so chalked full of life and things he couldn't help but get caught up in his head at the end of the day sometimes. A pat on the shoulder gets his attention better than sound when he's like that. But sometimes, at the end of a longer day, reflection added on top of everything else was just far too much.  
He didn't even realize it when it happened. He was just... Thinking. And suddenly nothing could get him out of his head.

His point of view on this varied. Sometimes he even shut down conscious thought and merely felt, running his fingers absently over whatever surface was near him and letting his mind run down a rabbit home with it and anything else it brought to mind. Sometimes it was everything and nothing at once, processing without putting his own thoughts into it, just running through the facts and the memories of whatever the topic was and whatever topic it connected to without anything personal. Hours could pass this way.

Lincoln had to explain to him what happened when he finally gets through to Michael. He doesn't say more than that on the topic, usually. Michael is fine with that. He's never expecting it to happen always surprised to hear that he essentially blacked out.  
He almost thinks it's better than the bouts of anxiety or irrational fears. At least when he's overloaded there's no judgement. When it's anxiety then they both - he's positive he can see it on Lincoln's face - wonder why he can't deal with things himself like a normal person. Sometimes Lincoln says it, when he was already tired or bothered by other things or what sets Michael off seems to be extremely mundane. He can understand that.

Lincoln doesn't get any of it any better than anyone else, but honestly Michael couldn't care less what he thinks about it anymore. Right now he was living with his brother who had a steady job. Between foster homes and juvie and then prison, they've been apart far too much. There has to be a silver lining to their situation - to Michael's situation - and his brother holding him when he comes out of his head or down from a panic is the best that Michael can ask for right now.

Lincoln still stays out late sometimes with no warning, and every time Michael should know that he's just getting a few drinks or smoking a joint without alerting the landlord to his habit. And yet, every time the younger winds up biting his lip raw and searching for distractions so that he doesn't get any more worked up by the idea that Lincoln could be getting arrested again.  
The evenings are stressful.

Michael comes home from school late one night, and without a worry in the world Lincoln asks if he had a date he didn't mention. Michael pauses then, wondering if there's about to be a scolding and if he would even care so long as he got the other's undivided attention. He says _maybe_ with a grin and let's Lincoln snort and brush past it.  
It's not like he's going to date when he's dressed mostly out of Good Will, blends into the background at school, and gets a sort of sensory overload based on things that no one else can see. He sounded more like a crazy homeless man, and what a confidence booster that thought is.

Instead of out on a date like, he was walking aimlessly around the city for a few hours, wishing he had alcohol to warm him and counter the cold wind. Maybe it would get Lincoln's attention without the irritation that often accompanied it. No one has to say it for Michael to know that he's still the annoying little brother, at least sometimes. It came with the territory of being a younger brother at all. It came across when he was shoo'd out of the room because of a buddy or a girlfriend coming over. He doesn't know how Lincoln finds time to date - if it really is dating, only a few girls ever come back - in their situation.  
Michael studies and works part time on the weekends, Lincoln works full time and when he isn't working he's with Michael at home or with his petty-criminal friends probably getting high. They don't have the most regular lives anyway, and Lincoln wouldn't want to share that with anyone. It's not in his nature to open up to people.

He's open with Michael on occasion, but it's not like turmoil is never ending just under the surface. When he needs to talk, he usually goes out. He goes out when he's bored too, which makes it confusing if Michael hasn't been paying close enough attention. It's rare that Lincoln talks to Michael about personal things- serious things. More serious than the 'don't do drugs like me' comments or conversations that are a regular occurrence at this point. Michael never understood what was so hard about staying out of trouble. But everyone copes differently. He notices a good amount of coping going on when he's out of the house. It's interesting how his perception picks up on people too, rather than just physical puzzle pieces.  
Lincoln copes in means of complaining or substance abuse.

They were both dealt a bad hand of cards, Michael knows. He can't help but be mad at his brother sometimes, be self-pitying. But he thinks Lincoln needed more help. Michael had Lincoln, even if the lack of heartfelt conversation went both ways. Even if Lincoln's coping got them kicked out of previous homes and got himself fired from jobs they very much needed him to keep. Simply, his impulses _were_ his way to handle a rough life with a brother to take care of on his own. Michael couldn't honestly think he had it worse than that just because the world could be overwhelming.

Lincoln was still an ass though.

Most of the time. When he wasn't, he was putting Michael first. Lincoln wasn't the best brother, he wasn't the most responsible, but he did put Michael first when it counted. Ahead of girlfriends, ahead of friends, definitely. Michael would like to say he was put ahead of getting high or drunk too but that was actually less common. Lincoln had a habit of disappearing for hours or even days when he eventually got fired. Michael almost wonders how he's allowed to live with his brother anymore, but he knows first hand how things slip through the cracks.

He has suspicions that because he was the responsible one, the voice of reason, the buzzkill, Lincoln assumed more faith in Michael's ability to be alone than he should. Not to say that Michael was dysfunctional by himself, but when Lincoln was supposed to be back, he worries. Wether he's worried much or not, when Lincoln has been gone long enough, he worries. Worrying isn't good for Michael, but it's almost a default state of being sometimes. Not just because of Lincoln, of course, but it is what it is. He works with it just like everything else and in the end, he really shouldn't be by himself for too long.

He doesn't worry until a day has passed. Just as it's starting, the door unlocks and Lincoln knocks his shoulder into it. It seems to always be stuck as soon as it closes.  
It doesn't do a lot of good right away. Michael is sat sideways on the little couch in the living room, his knees drawn halfway up to chest and his back leaned against the couch arm. The door is forced shut, jamming it again. The noise this time is what gets Michael's attention. Lincoln stood there watching him, looking perfectly fine aside from a little dirt on the side of his head. Or was it a bruise? He was hurt. Lincoln was hurt. Michael's heart starts faster.

Lincoln sighs at the sight of his brother. They both know things aren't quite right with Michael but he himself throws that knowledge aside. "You're hurt." And he had been complaining about being left alone in favor of drugs or booze or god knows what for almost two days. Association links him to other times Lincoln has gotten in fights. Times he and Lincoln fought. Lincoln yelling. Lincoln breaking things. Michael sat in a closet Lincoln's friends locked him in while he was on a beer run, and Lincoln yelling at them right in front of him while he cover his ears and his eyes burn.  
Darkness, a man in the doorway, a hand coming at him, the smell of blood, the sound of the lock as he picks it, the feel of concrete underneath him.  
Lincoln's hands on his shoulders.

Lincoln's hands are on his shoulders. He doesn't know how long it took for him to notice. He's irrational when he gets going like this. “Sorry.” He says quietly, blinking.  
“It's ok, Michael.” Lincoln says with a tone that leaves no room for argument without being harsh. Michael nods a little. “I'm not hurt, Mike. Nothing bad happened, I promise.”

He swallows dryly. “Promise?”  
“Promise.”  
“Okay.”

Lincoln heats up freezer meals for dinner. Michael doesn't move from the couch. He almost did, and probably could, but Lincoln said not to bother. He coddles Michael when this happens, no matter how tired he seems to be with taking care of his little brother.

Michael shifts about like he can't get comfortable, which is only half true. He bounces his focus between watching Lincoln moving in the little kitchen and pressing his thumb into his other palm. Both are things that can help keep him in the present.  
"Where were you..?" He finally asks, quietly but loud enough to be heard.  
A beat of silence. "Got high with Mark downtown. It got late, stayed overnight. Slept in.." Got high again, it got later in the day, etc etc. Michael knows that story. He nods to himself.

"Okay."  
"I'm sorry, Michael."  
"I know."

He does. He knows that it's not intentional, that Lincoln cares for him. That doesn't quite fix it though, does it?


	2. Chapter 2

Michael curls up when he lies down to sleep. It's his way of searching for warmth to help him relax when he naturally runs as cold as he does. It probably has something to do with how thin he was- not underweight but he had dropped what remained of his baby fat a while ago, and he didn't workout like Lincoln did to bulk up. Granted, Lincoln would have to eat more to really gain size, but they tended to only buy the minimum of groceries to assure there would be money for rent and bills. He was still stronger and bigger than Michael. What fitness _he_ did was restricted to body weight movements on the bedroom floor. Sometimes Lincoln tries to teach him how to fight, but Lincoln is used to fighting dirty with drunk or angry men, usually while in no better state himself. You can't teach that very easily. It was something he learned with trial and error.

With less muscle and little fat, Michael is lean, thin, and he curls up in search of warmth instead of getting up for a spare blanket they keep on the couch. Once he's out though and his body relaxes further, he sprawls out and wraps around anything he can. Adjusting his pillow and tucking his head down a little more, he's mastered how to comfortably hug the thing with his head still on it. That was typically reserved for winter though, as if his body is trying to replicate another person in bed for him to lay his head on and wrap his arms around.

Lincoln teases him for it sometimes, with the worst timing of pre-coffee.

Lincoln also tends to sleep like the dead and Michael always threatens to use that to his advantage. To which Lincoln replies that Michael has never pulled a prank before and he isn't worried.

 _Irrelevant_ , Michael thinks. One day, when he isn't worried about wether or not Linc is sleeping enough to be his best at work.

Michael curls up on the couch one night, homework completed but a near-useless textbook open next to him. He's read through most of it, and while he is learning whatever it has to offer, it still doesn't include anything the class is tested on. It doesn't include help for half of the assignments either. At least he's learning _something_.. Lincoln thinks it's ridiculous that he actually reads through every one of his textbooks, but Lincoln sure as hell wasn't going to college even if they had the money for it so what did he know.

When Michel wakes up, it's only enough that he can peek his eyes open for a few moments at a time and catch the image of his brother moving about. He stacks the papers on the coffee table, closes the text book and takes it all to the bedroom to set on Michael's nightstand for him to deal with how he chooses later. There's more footsteps but Michael stops paying attention. He's tired and hardly conscious to begin with, so he lets his eyes stay closed when they droop again.  
He's curled up, slouched sideways with one arm helping the couch's be more of a pillow for his head and the over wrapped around his middle. His feet are still on the floor but his legs are bent and pivoted like he wants to draw them up.  
Lincoln might take this as a sign that Michael isn't completely asleep yet. Wether he does it not though doesn't really matter, either way he's laying a blanket over his little brother's naturally cold, sensitive body. If it were the other way around he'd make some joke about movie cliches.

He hears the microwave in use, and absently thinks that he hasn't eaten yet either. He doesn't care enough to wake up though, and that was the last conscious thought before he drifted off again.

[...]

Michael doesn't like it when Lincoln goes out for obscene amounts of time, which he's gotten better about since getting his most recent job at a construction site. That doesn't mean Michael likes when he brings his shitty friends home either. They're disrespectful, the two of them. Nearly brought some of _their_ buddies over with them, which both Michael and Lincoln know would result in some giant mess to clean up because no one cares about another person's living space or belongings. So it's just the two of them, and Michael supposed he should be glad for that at least.

He reheats soup from two nights ago for himself, but even that is enough for one of them to glance his way from where he's sat on the couch and start cracking jokes.  
Michael doesn't like it when Linc's friends are over. They don't know about boundaries. They also often change over the years but somehow Lincoln finds almost exact copies of the same moron. What's sad is that the guys Lincoln knew just out of high school were alright. Slobs, but they didn't outright bully Michael and they understood the value of _fighting the man_ selectively so you don't lose your job. Two of them moved out of town, and there was some sort of falling out with the third.

"How olds that kid?" Jerry asks, elbowing Lincoln's side and very obviously staring at Michael.  
"Fifteen."  
"Hey sweet! Y'know, when I was sixteen-" Michael debates tuning him out all together, or perhaps eating in his room instead of leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter where he can glance at the sofa and hear perfectly fine. "All I wanted was some tail. Had this teacher, oh man," tuning out it is. Michael scrunches his nose as the sexist babbling starts. He had a mother for an even shorter time than Lincoln did and he can respect women better than most boys his age. Better than most of the guys Lincoln hangs around too, he's pretty sure. He once heard someone say that young men had to be taught to be respectful, which may be true in some cases but Michael still calls bullshit because he has had very little training in manners but he knows plenty about it.

Sometimes he thinks life would be easier if girls and bullied kids alike just started slapping the offensive ones like they would spray a bad dog with water until it learned it's lesson. Offense is a relative term though, and he can't speak for any group. He isn't even in any group. Michael has Lincoln, and he doesn't even _fit in_ with him. Not really, Lincoln is just used to him and cares enough to overlook things

Jerry rambles on about his taste in woman and something about a fantasy involving that teacher of his in high school. One day Michael will have a friend who's as annoyed as he is and they can make a drinking game based on this. He hopes being a confident man isn't achieved by putting others down, because if it is Michael will have as hard of a time in adulthood as he does with adolescence.

Michael sighs at his soup. He flees to his room as soon as he finished half of the bowl and could claim to be fed, successfully ignoring whatever, whoever called after him. He shuts the door behind himself for at least something close to quiet while he reads.

It's at least an hour later that Lincoln steps in and tells him that the guys are staying the night. Michael looks at him over the top of his book with a look that should portray his disapproval plainly.  
Linc rolls his eyes. "Come on, I know you don't like em Mikey-"  
"They're your friends, you want them over that's fine. Maybe keep the sexist comments to a minimal if you can, though. I'd like to hear at least one person out there being mature.."  
"Jerry's an idiot."  
"Don't have to tell me.."

"You can come out y'know. Don't have to stay cooped up in here."  
"And hang out with those guys? I know their type, Linc. I go to school with guys like that." And it isn't fun to be noticed by them. Linc wouldn't understand that, though. Michael doesn't tell him about it. Never has.  
"And?" He doesn't even think that it might be a bad thing for Michael. Of course.  
"And they're annoying and I don't need to listen to them in my own home."

Lincoln isn't exactly pleased, obviously, but it's not a big deal and he leaves it be. He knows there's no winning against Michael when he's using that voice; almost monotone, one step away from being a drawl if he thought he could pull it off but for now sounds more whiney than is ideal.

He will stay right here and continue to read all night if he has to to avoid whatever is going on in the living room.  
And he does. He leaves for the bathroom once, and again to brush his teeth, and then he changes into pajamas and lies down. No interaction necessary. He goes to bed earlier than Lincoln, but not by much usually. They both need their rest to take care of themselves. By now it's a habit that Michael has just about forced Lincoln into, but it apparently gets him to go to bed even when he has guests staying over.

Michael gets out of bed for a glass of water. A glance at his alarm clock tells him that it's ten past two AM. The light under the bathroom door tells him that he's not the only one awake. Fantastic. But at least the tv is on mute. Michael turns it off before going to the kitchen.

He hears a light switch flicked. Whoever wasn't currently asleep on the couch was probably going to be lying down on the floor, where Michael can only assume he had been sleeping previously.  
But then, no. He doesn't hear footsteps due to the carpeting, but the kitchen is tiled and bare feet make a soft sound, but sound none the less. Michael sighs softly out his nose and takes his water in hand, turning to make his leave only to instead be met with Jerry's face only a few feet away.

"What're you doing up?" He whispers. Michael holds up his glass a little higher as explanation. He's not sure if he should be weary or annoyed at the moment. He wonders briefly if he should mention that Lincoln sleeps like a boulder and Leo on the couch looked like he did too, so the whispering was a waste of effort. He decides against it. He's not sure why.  
"Do you ever talk?" Jerry asks, a grin pulling at his lips. Annoyed it is.  
"When I feel like it."  
"You're pretty weird, aren't you?" Jerry takes a step closer. "Hiding out in your room, not looking at anybody, not talking to no one.. What were you doing all by yourself earlier? Huh?"  
Perhaps weary instead. Michael steps backwards, his brow furrowing slightly. "Reading."

"Sure you were." Jerry hums, amused.  
Michael wets his lips. "No offense, but I'd rather be in bed right now."  
"What's stopping you?" Creepy prick.  
"You. You're blocking my way."  
Another step closer. Michael's posture stiffens, but this time he refuses to move. He's not going to _cower_ in his own home. Not because of some asshole trying to intimidate him. Not even because of the hand that clasps over his hip and one last step putting Jerry inches apart from him.

"The quiet ones are always freaks. Bet you're a screamer in bed, huh faggot? Into some weird shit.." For a brief, fleeting second of stability, Michael wonders why on Earth he's the one being called _fag_ when he hasn't done anything to encourage this.  
But then, maybe he did. Should he have snapped and yelled? Pushed him back and run? Darted around him as fast as he could? He can't be sure. Maybe there just isn't enough protest. Jerry was still the one starting all of this though. If anything, Michael can hold onto that- the fact that maybe he didn't discourage it like he should, but he wouldn't have even _thought_ to start it.

They're all fleeting thoughts, passing in seconds before he feels breath on his cheek and his own halts.  
"Face like that? You gotta be up to something..." He murmurs, his voice dropping. Something twists in Michael's stomach.  
Jerry rubs Michael's hip with his thumb, his other hand moving against and up his thigh. He might be shaking, brow furrowed and eyes blankly locked ahead.

He's pulled from his shock by the hand on his thigh sliding to his ass. He startles with a small gasp. "Don't--"  
He brings his hands up by his shoulders, floundering for a moment unsure what to do with himself. All the while only met with "Don't pretend this isn't what you were thinking about."  
It's not. He wasn't. He lets out what might be a frustrated whimper, but gains control over his body again. He shoves Jerry with as much force as he can muster and sends him stumbling backwards a step or two. _Only_ a step or two.

Jerry's hands are quick to wrap around Michael's wrists. "Fuckin' pussy. Can't take the real thing?" He sneers with a crooked grin. He even releases Michael aggressively. For a split second they both stand in the silence, as if both debating what to do next. Before Jerry decides on violence, Michael walks as quickly as his legs will carry him back to his bed.

Somewhere between the doorway and his bed he slows to a shuffle, moving in a daze of confusion and disbelief distracting him from his haste. Auto pilot took over within seconds until his leg bumped into the bed frame. He blinks, glances around the room, and climbs back under the covers.

In the morning he isn't sure how long the others will be sleeping, so he brings his clothes with him into the bathroom to change into and showers under a scolding hot stream of water. It started comfortably warm, but soon comfortable wasn't good enough. It burns, bringing a red tint to his skin and he stands under it until his entire body seems to be colored in a blush from the heat.  
He doesn't turn it off until he hears life on the other side of the door. By then the water is just starting to cool.

Clean and dressed, Michael no longer has a reason to avoid leaving the bathroom. Except he doesn't want to see Jerry. Doesn't want to pretend nothing happened but doesn't want to confront him or tell anyone else either.

He trusts Lincoln with some things. His emotional state isn't on the list. His mental state is hardly there, only because Lincoln is the one who can pull him out of his head. He knows though that no matter what promises Lincoln makes, he's going to get fired for something that could have been avoided. Then he'll get wasted or disappear for a few days or get arrested again or something else that someone with genuine sense of responsibility should know not to do, and Michael will be left on his own once more.  
So in the end, even though on a conscious level he knows that Lincoln would beat Jerry until he was black and blue for doing what he did, Michael can't tell him.

One more secret to keep.

Secrets pile up. Michael gets better at being without Lincoln. He doesn't tell him why he starts occasionally stealing pot. He doesn't tell him that they were about to get final notices on bills while he was away on his latest disappearing act. He doesn't tell him how he covered it. Never mentions that night Linc's friends stayed over.  
They fight, watch TV together, don't share secrets but occasionally share a bed when those unspoken things are too much. It's a mess but it's theirs.  
Theirs...Until Lincoln is arrested again.  
Michael will go to a group home. He'll turn sixteen there, and he'll work to get emancipated so he can be done with all of this.


	3. Chapter 3

Lincoln doesn't even make it to Michael's sixteenth birthday. Via letter rather than visits because Lincoln doesn't want Michael to even step foot inside a prison, he finds out that Michael might be- and then is, getting emancipated. It's a little odd to hear. He and Lincoln always fought to stay together. He made it a good while before he bounced back in here. Even held onto two jobs much longer than he thought he could. It was a testament to his determination at least. Only for his brother can he contain his anger issues enough to not get canned for six months. It's a record. But all good things had to end, and in reality, if they were honest, they both knew he couldn't do it longer than that.

Once again he says it's the last time. He doubts it will be, but he says it to himself all the same. If he's lucky then what he's going home to will keep him straight. At least for longer than usual.  
Michael is supplied by the state with a little apartment. Smart kid like him, well mannered, clean record, perfect grades, already working, he probably passed any requirements with flying colors. Knowing Michael he's probably upset that he can't pay for the apartment on his own instead of being glad for state issued assistance.

It's technically not Lincoln's home, he supposed. But Michael wrote him often, always took his calls, and asked him to stay. Michael is as close to home as Lincoln's got.  
So as soon as he's out of prison, hopefully for the last time, he goes straight to his brother.

The place isn't too bad, he thinks. It'll probably be spotless on the inside, organized to a T. The building is shabby and small in radius but large in height. He could be in worse places. Lincoln hates that 'could be worse' is the highlight for his brother's living situation.  
After knocking on the door, he doesn't hear anything until two locks are undone. Unlike the last place they shared, the door doesn't need to be yanked on to open.

Michael's shoulders are broader. Lincoln isn't sure how subtle the differences technically are yet, but he can feel it as Michael's arms wrap around him and hold him tight.  
When they separate, and soon step inside, Michael stands somewhat awkwardly in the middle of the room. It's exactly as expected; small, perfectly tidied, a kitchenette to the side and a bedroom to the back. Perfect for someone in Michael's situation.

Lincoln shuts and locks the door behind himself, looking around the room before his eyes settle on his brother. He's not sure if he looks better or worse, but certainly different. Lincoln has two inches on him at best now, but he was also still wearing boots. Broader shoulders, sturdier frame, hair still a curly mess but shorter like he's been trying to actually manage it.  
Regret and what might be bitterness stirs in Lincoln's gut. Michael was growing up, and he's missed it.

"I've missed you." He's pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his brother's voice. Something about that is different too, besides the deeper sound he thinks, but he can't quite pinpoint it.  
"Missed you too, man."  
"I ah.. There's dinner in the oven. And there isn't a guest bed but there's extra blankets and pillows." He almost seems nervous. Almost. And Lincoln knows the difference, but he's curious all the same. He nods along instead of asking any questions.  
"Works for me."

Dinner is frozen lasagna because Michael hardly buys anything without coupons. There were more for frozen food and snacks than any actual meal that Lincoln knows his brother would definitely prefer. Last he checked the kid wouldn't know how to make more than three meals anyway. Lincoln was the cook, if only because he was older. Even still, he was a little smug about being better than Michael at something. Cleaning and organizing - wether thoughts or living space - those were Michael's things. Food was Lincoln's.

After dinner they watch whatever Lincoln picks because he's the one who just got out of prison. Michael sits a little closer to him than is strictly normal, but it's normal for them. Lincoln's used to a lot of Michael's quirks. He's probably the only one that knows them all- unless of course, something happened while he was gone. It's possible. Michael can be quite the private person, only asking for help if he's desperate, only complaining about meaningless things if anything at all. Lincoln isn't blind, he's fully aware that Michael must not share much of his life with him. It's not like Lincoln can keep up with that freaky brain of his anyway. When Michael needs something, he still comes to Lincoln. Rarely does he explain details, but he says enough for Lincoln not to worry too much and then he seeks comfort in his brother. Given his track record of screwing anything and everything up, Lincoln is glad to provide whatever help he can for Michael.

He isn't good with words, so while he tries anyway, talking will only have the potential of getting Michael to smile. No solutions to his problem or his emotional state, but a smile is something. Otherwise he just lets Michael use him however he needs; pulling Lincoln's arm around his shoulders, crawling into bed with him in some cases, usually just sitting closer than most guys like to sit to each other and resting his head on his shoulder. It's an abnormal relationship, they both surely know, but Michael himself is abnormal.

He's always been rather attached to Lincoln. Ever since he was a little kid he's had some sort of brotherly adoration that can be and has been in the past obnoxious. Lincoln remembers once being on the soccer team at school and Michael staying with a babysitter during one of the games while their mother took Lincoln. Said babysitter explained when they got back that Michael was fine until asking where his brother was for the better part of an hour. Lincoln probably could have guessed that much by how Michael hugged his leg.

As he got older it was less obvious, like with any affection once someone grasps the concept of embarrassment. Definitely once Michael grasped the concept that Lincoln is far from perfect. His early criminal record is probably what got them moved around as much as they were. Probably why he aged out of the system. He doesn't know how the kid keeps his grades perfect while working after classes every day. What's more surprising is that Michael tells him he had a girlfriend for about a month while Lincoln was locked up. Where he found the time, who knows.

It was bound to happen eventually. Michael was smart and polite and good looking. He was quiet and a little odd too, a little sensitive for a boy his age none the less in his situation. Still, someone saw through to the good stuff. Lincoln hoped so anyway. When he asks why they split up, Michael shrugs a little and says a little quieter, "I blacked out while she was here. It scared her."  
It makes Lincoln pause, his brow furrow slightly. No way would Michael's first girlfriend be someone understanding enough to not be freaked out, to be someone he could explain to. No one's luck was that good, but he's still a little insulted on his brother's behalf.

"What happened?"  
Michael's turn to pause. "What?"  
"You don't black out for no reason. Did she do something?"  
A small scoff. "No. She didn't do anything, it was just a long week. Got to me I guess." That didn't sound exactly truthful but it's the best Lincoln will get and he knows it. Michael really is private, even after time apart. Some things just don't change.

Michael catches him up on the changes to his schedule and on the latest antics of the asshole manager at his work. Lincoln likes being in the loop again. Likes feeling like he never left, even though that isn't quite the case.

They joke around, even rough house a little when playful shoves on the couch get a bit too heavy. Michael actually laughs. Until that moment, he didn't realize how much he missed that sound. It isn't until later that he wonders when the last time he heard it was, exactly. His stomach twists a little when he realizes that he has no idea. It's late, then. Long enough since they turned out the lights and said good night that Michael should definitely be asleep.  
Lincoln gets out from under the blanket on the couch. He paces in a circle twice, arguing that it's ridiculous to want to check on him, semi-responsible big brother or not.

He loses the argument with himself and pads across the wood floor to the bedroom. The door is isn't shut, but not wide open and welcoming. It feels borderline like an invasion to push the gap wider to spy on Michael while he sleeps. The kid has snuck into Lincoln's bed on occasion though, this should be fine.

What isn't fine is how Michael is curled up in the fetal position under two blankets like he only does when he's uncomfortable, cold, or both. By the time he's honestly asleep, he can't be bothered with the day or his surroundings and his body relaxes.  
Something wasn't right with this picture. Lincoln runs through the evening and their conversations, letters and phone calls, hoping for a sign. Michael was pretty sensitive. The wrong thing could send him into hours of distress, wether it was intentional or not, wether about himself or things he could be worrying over. The latter wasn't usually as bad in Lincoln's opinion, but he has never and will never know what goes on in Michael's head.  
He can't think of anything he did wrong tonight. Usually when it's Lincoln who upsets his brother he can figure it out just fine after he fact. Another reason to be concerned now...

"Michael." He whispers into the room. Maybe he just woke up for whatever reason and had to reset that sleepy relaxation thing. "Michael." He tries again, a little more pointedly. He's met with silence.  
Asleep after all.

Carefully entering the room he glances around. Still clean as everything else... Not as organized though. There's a nightstand next to the bed with a stack of books and single papers on the floor beside it. Some strays have fallen from the top, wrinkled like he's maybe stepped on them the last time that happened. By the closet door is a pillowcase with what can be assumed is dirty laundry. Same old same old..

Michael shifts, drawing Lincoln's focus. For a second he looks like he might be settling at last, stretching his legs out only to turn and pull his knees back up.

In the morning Lincoln wakes to the smell of coffee and bacon. Michael might have actually gotten to be even stealthier than before, as even after Lincoln wakes there's not a single noise aside from the coffee maker brewing. And yet, sure enough, Michael moves about the kitchenette, preparing breakfast for them both.  
Lincoln rises as slowly as ever with a good nights sleep under his belt, but he does rise soon enough and upon closer inspection catches sight of eggs too. Michael was going all out here.

"Morning."  
"Morning. Sleep good?"  
"Yeah, slept alright." He looks Michael over, head to toe, as if this time he'll see differences he didn't spot before despite how he's as hidden by clothing as he was yesterday. "How 'bout you?"  
"Fine." Michael says with a shrug.  
"Yeah? Since when does fine mean curled up like you're freezing under two blankets?"  
The kid has the audacity to snort like he might laugh. "Checking on me, Linc? What did prison do to you?" He teases as he scrapes scrambled eggs onto each plate.

He's trying to skip over the subject, Lincoln knows, but he isn't sure if he should call him out on it. He never was good at communication. Hell, neither of them were.

A plate with eggs and two strips of bacon is held in front of him. "Here, eat. I'll get the coffee."  
So much for discussion. Lincoln does as told and takes a seat at the little square table by the kitchenette. Soon Michael sets a cup of coffee beside him and after takes a seat with his own breakfast.  
"I have work from nine to four today."  
"It's Saturday."  
"I work weekends."  
Michael was distinctly less childlike to Lincoln with a job and knowing how to cook a real breakfast. He should be proud, he supposed, and he was for the most part. The problem is that he missed out on two years of Michael's life. It could've been longer if the judge wasn't sympathetic and he didn't keep himself in check.

"Linc uh... There can't be any drugs here. I-I don't know if you're ever still interested in that stuff, but if you are, it just- it can't be here, at least." It almost sounds like he's rehearsed this. He's worried about what Lincoln will say and while he's aware of that, it doesn't stop him from getting defensive.  
"First morning back and the first thing you have to say is not to do drugs in your place?"  
There's a brief pause, then a sigh out his nose. "I'm just covering bases here."

Lincoln is comparatively better at keeping his mouth shut than before. He couldn't go pissing off guards or getting into fights when he was already serving a two year sentence and had Michael and LJ waiting for him. He's still bristled but he doesn't turn this into an argument.

[...]

It's not the first time he's seen Michael high, but it is however only the second, and more stressful than it should be. His mind is running wild with questions, starting with what is he high on and ending with how many times has he done this. Why's and how's fill in the space between.  
He remembers that before he left Michael had been occasionally stealing his pot, but he only got caught him using it once. He never got an explanation for that, no matter how many times he asked- though maybe he could have if he hadn't been violently shaking him and demanding answers from someone just coming out of their high.

Michael was supposed to know better. He's smart and resourceful, the state let him live alone for over a year now. Michael should be plenty smart enough to not do anything Lincoln does. He's always been a fan of _as I say, not as I do_. Maybe it's obnoxious but it's right. Just because Lincoln isn't leading by example doesn't mean he can't see what's best for his brother.  
This was not best.

He's been back for a week. Day two is when he started hunting for a job, and while Michael looked like he wanted to protest he could probably use someone helping him with rent or at least the grocery bill.  
By the end of the week he has another one of those jobs where they don't ask questions because the job kind of sucks and they need hands. Now that he's stolen a car more expensive than he even realized when taking it, his criminal record was far worse than some petty crimes and time in juvie. Still, a job is a job and money is money.

Michael is usually home after him, going straight from school to work until around seven. Lincoln finishes his work at sundown at the latest, so he's used to being back before Michael. This is different though. Over half an hour after he was meant to be home, Michael returns. It's not a problem that Lincoln's had to deal with before. That one incident with the weed, and maybe a few times where Michael came home late but the weed had been Lincoln's, used in their own home, and being late didn't really matter. This was completely different.  
This was _someone else_ getting Michael high _somewhere else_ and Lincoln had zero knowledge about the situation.

The younger plops down on the couch beside him, his movements sluggish and the way he speaks all too familiar to Lincoln. He knows very well that there won't be any explanation later. Maybe if he yells as much as he wants to, if he shakes him around when is mind is a little clearer, but that knowledge only pissed him off more. At Michael - for doing this, for not telling him why - at himself - for making Michael feel that he can't trust him, for wanting to be violent towards his baby brother - Lincoln was just mad.  
He sits beside Michael and doesn't say a word.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could've posted this sooner if I hadn't changed my mind about a scene I wrote but not wanted to lose the length.

Michael never used to workout. Not as far as Lincoln was aware anyway. And yet, that's where he's apparently going tonight. He changes into shorts and then pulls sweat pants over those, and similar with his tank top and layers for further warmth.  
Lincoln finally has his answer for what's different though; whereas Michael wasn't far from skin and bones before, now he has a layer of lean muscle he's had two years to work on.  
"How'd that happen?" He teased. But honestly, Michael didn't like sweating, he stripped to his underwear if it was hot enough because he hated feeling sticky.  
Michael laughs a bit lightly. "I started boxing. Lot of training goes with it."  
"Boxing?" That was different.. If anything, Lincoln would have guessed he'd go for track team- though clearly he wouldn't look in shape then. Runners were twigs.  
"Yeah. You were gone for two years," Michael explains as he pulls on his second jacket and zips the first up. "I wanted to be able to handle myself." He shrugs. A valid point. Lincoln wished it wasn't. But it was good to see his brother taking care of himself.  
"Cool. You got any fights yet?"  
"In the ring or out?" A smile pulls at Michael's lips.  
"Both."  
"Ten in the ring, two out but only one of those got physical."  
He can't help his grin. He justifies it with the idea that he should support his brother's hobby. "Who won?"  
"I'm calling it a tie, it was stupid anyway."  
"Stupid how?"

"Stupid like trying to defend the honor of someone I don't really know. Probably made things worse in the long run." His gaze doesn't meet Lincoln again. "I was stupid." He says with another shrug before he steps around his brother and makes to leave.  
"How long are you gonna be gone?"  
"About two hours usually. The walk's kind of long but it's close enough I _can_ walk." Lincoln nods.

Michael comes home when he said he would. His knuckles are red and his hair is shiny, damp from sweat yet to dry, but otherwise he looks exactly the same as when he left. If it wasn't for what he now knows and can assume about Michael's capability, Lincoln would think he looks completely unassuming still.

"Hey, how'd it go?" He asks as Michael sets his small duffle bag on the table.  
"Same old same old." Michael says with a soft sigh.  
"When do I get to see you fight?"  
"How about never."  
"Hey, I'm being supportive here." Lincoln replies jokingly. He sees the upward pull at the corner of Michael's lips no matter how unamused he's trying to look.  
"You just want to see me get knocked on my ass."  
"If I wanted to see that I'd knock you down myself. Seriously I wanna see what you can do."  
Michael pursed his lips for a quiet moment. "Fine. I'll let you know when the next fight is."

Lincoln uses leftover vegetables and a few cans of chicken soup to make dinner while Michael showers. Michael asks him about his job while they eat, Lincoln asks about school. Michael was a bit of a pessimist about the subject even though he tried not to complain much about anything. It's pretty hard to be motivated when it feels like your life can't go anywhere; Lincoln knows even better than Michael. It's disappointing though, because whereas Lincoln didn't have the skills or the smarts to get into college even if they had the money, Michael did. He'll ask about scholarships next time.  
For now he isn't looking for a fight and had a feeling he'd get one.

[...]

He’s suspicious when Michael wears his winter gloves around the house until cooking dinner. He thinks he knows what happened when he catches sight of dark red knuckles. He waits until Michael is going to bed to speak up though; hesitant, relatively speaking, but better than he has been more often than not in the past.  
“Hey uh, real quick.” He starts, catching Michael before he can slip away into his bedroom. “What happened to your hands?”  
A pause. “What do you mean?” Fingers set idly and delicately on the doorframe tense. In the stillness of the apartment Lincoln can just notice the subtle change.  
“Your knuckles are bruising. Get in a fight?”  
“Yeah.” Another pause, one in which Lincoln isn’t sure what to say either. “After school, don't worry I didn’t get in trouble or anything..”  
Lincoln snorts. “Like you would. Who was it?”  
A shrug. “Just some guy.” As if that explained anything. Michael was level-headed. Always had been and likely always would be so long as he kept going the way he was.  
As long as he didn’t go and screw up like Lincoln and slide.

“What’d he do?”  
“Does it matter?”  
“You might as well wear a _sign_ that says _pacifist_ , Mikey. He had to do something.”  
Michael rolls his eyes. He couldn’t deny it though. Michael was always one for the high road. At least, Lincoln assumed as much. He never heard of a conflict his brother was a part of. He fears though a time where Michale snapped and did something he would regret. So far there was no sign of such unless this was it.

"He hit me first."  
"...What'd _you_ do?"  
He laughs. It's soft, more like a chuckle, perhaps a bit bitter if Lincoln chose to read into it further- possibly more than was realistic but he _laughs_. "He thought I was watching him make out with his girlfriend. I tried to walk away and he hit me so I hit him back a few times and left."

A moment of silence passes before it was rather suddenly Lincoln's turn to laugh.

Michael turns to leave with a slight smile of his own still present.  
"Hey- wait, were you?" Lincoln asks, humor lining his voice. Michael only pauses long enough to flip him off.

[...]

He dreams of angry hands and loud whispers, cold words and dark spaces. He can never move much in his dreams. If he can he never gets far; never runs fast enough, never hits hard enough.

He didn't used to dream so often. He hardly dreamed at all; his trouble had always been getting to sleep to begin with. Sometimes he would wake still feeling tired, as if the peaceful night had been restless. He longed for simple nights like that now.  
Foolishly Michael had hoped that somehow his brother's return on its own would fix it. Hoped that it would be as if he were leaving origami cranes on his nightstand again, chasing away the things that scared him with a harmless warning that he was watching. He was watching and therefore Michael would be okay, nothing would come to hurt him. But things were exactly the same, because he wasn't a child anymore. He lived two years on his own.

In some ways it hadn't been incredibly different. Lincoln had a habit of being an absent sort of guardian. When he was sober he was there, but being sober typically only lasted a month or a few at best. Then he would relapse, disappear again, get in fights, get fired, make mistakes of all sorts and not truly be there for Michael until he quit again and said it was the last time. Said that he would be better from then on out. Michael was forgiving, partly because he knew not to get his hopes up. He took care of himself, cooked, cleaned, caused no trouble and brought no attention. He knew how to mask his emotions fairly well, how to slip under he radar. He learned very early in life, and he learned fast.

For as fragile as he could be at times, Michael rarely needed a thing from anyone.

That didn't mean he didn't want someone though. It didn't mean his brother's presence wasn't a comfort more often than not. It certainly didn't mean that he hadn't missed Lincoln. He loved his brother more than himself, he sometimes thought and never doubted.  
Lincoln was his anchor. As unstable as he was he grounded Michael and felt of home.

One night he wakes to a large hand on his shoulder, gentle and yet so heavy to him that Michael fails to separate reality from dreams and flinches violently backwards. Finding he can't go anywhere he tenses, staring wide-eyed at the shadowy figure until it clicks that he was trapped by his mattress and not a wall. He was in bed, curled up under two slipping blankets and the whispered call of his name came from his brother.

"What?" He finally asks, voice hushed as it mingles with the breath he was still trying to catch. He thinks he can make out the furrow in Lincoln's brow as his eyes adjust to the dark. "Shit, Mikey.." He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "Why are you in my room, Linc?"  
Lincoln runs a hand over his skull. "Couldn't sleep. I came to check on you and you were sweating."

"Just a bad dream. Leave it alone."  
"Michael if something happened-"  
"Then you wouldn't know, would you?"

Silence. Michael closes his eyes again in a wince at his own words. "I'm sorry. You scared me is all."  
"I get it." He sighs, and with that Lincoln begins retreating.


	5. Chapter 5

Michael worries sometimes about keeping all of the secrets that he does.

About the abuse he endured. What he did once to pay the bills. What Lincoln's friend tried to do to him. The thoughts he sometimes had about himself. The outburst that everyone but Lincoln knew about--

He asked about the bruises on his knuckles. After so many had witnessed it he didn't want to explain to Lincoln. He wanted to keep it to himself but just like everything else he locked away it weighed on his mind.  
The incident had been a blur once it started. He hadn't been watching. Not in the way it was thought, but that didn't stop the other from thinking so. He threw the first punch when Michael tried to walk away, just as he said. After that he barely knew what happened.

He fought back more than necessary. He broke a boy's nose and bruised his chin and eye. He doesn't need to think about it. Doesn't want to.

He was both good and bad at avoiding things.  
At best it would lurk in the back of his mind, constantly begging for attention but no real thought being given. At worst he would analyze and think and debate for hours on end, find a distraction for a little while and still come back to it again and repeat the process.

The memory keeps coming back to him in the morning. Every crack of an egg as he prepares breakfast sends him back to the bone in the boy's face snapping. Guilt adds weight to his shoulders just when he thought he couldn't carry anything else on his back.  
He thinks Lincoln might notice. He certainly does when Michael only makes breakfast for one, but once again whatever questions the other had were not going to be voiced. Michael pretends he had plans for the day anyway as an excuse to hurry out when his shift at work wasn't for a while.

And then he walks. It was early, but not early enough to watch the sunrise really. Weekends were simply more leisurely than that and since he only cooked for Lincoln he didn't leave until the older of the two was awake enough. He always had an easier time with sleep than Michael did. Once the sun was up, usually he was too. Once it was down and he was ready for rest-- it used to be easier. Things were difficult on his own though. Taking care of himself completely by himself removed what comfort he had when he laid down. Lincoln no longer looking out for him. His to-do list was no longer as simple. He worried about the responsibilities that he and his brother used to share and now both rested on his shoulders and he had to trust that the system that had failed him before wouldn't do so again. Sleep was harder to find with all that was on his mind.

A lot of things were.

Hence the walks.

He found it comforting more often than not- even if not stopping the thoughts he might have it somehow lessened the burden they carried, at least for a while. The fresh air was calming. The sunlight on his skin comforting. Sometimes there is a stray cat near a certain building he passes. A mean cat but he likes feeding it when he can sneak something out of the house. He wonders if it will follow him home if he keeps it up. He kind of wants it to.

They couldn't afford another mouth to feed no matter how small, but the idea of a little creature to take care of and keep him company was nice.

[...]

Lincoln steadily worked back up to two jobs again. The first went from mid-morning to sundown, and the second starts an hour later and goes until midnight. The second was also only weekends and the occasional Thursday, which he is both glad and not about. More free evenings were nice but they also meant a smaller salary.  
Compared to the exhausting three he used to try and manage when Michael was in his custody, he barely had a workload at all.

Michael says that he doesn't need to work so much right now. He was staying with him where the state helped some and Michael could pay for his own living expenses well enough. Lincoln knew they were both aware though that he had to maintain this sort of lifestyle regardless, to be sure that he wouldn't end up a burden on Michael, his little brother was simply trying to be polite.

He was impressed really with how well Michael was getting on. Something was off, as if the air around Michael was different now and Lincoln didn't like the feeling he got, but he tries to ignore it as much as possible. Michael did about half of his school at home so that he could work more hours, which he always did, and as far as Lincoln knew he was still acing all of his classes. He wonders if he had been underestimating his brother before despite the outbursts that he thought were proof of his thought process.

Perhaps he coddled too much. Held Michael back by taking care of him- but then, how could he not? Michael was his responsibility. Lincoln wasn't the best with things like that but he promised Michael when their mother died that he would take care of him. And every time he left in the middle of the night he promised him again he could take care of him with the origami birds left behind. Promised that he was always looking out. He didn't keep every promise; Michael had always seemed to believe him when he said he would stay clean, stay out of trouble, despite how he never did. He tried, truly. Maybe not hard enough. He knows Michael thought he just wasn't trying enough. Didn't want it bad enough. At this point Lincoln wouldn't be surprised because he feels so much different about his return than all of the others. He promised he would be good. What he hadn't considered as much was Michael getting into trouble.

The phone call is startling. Michael is meant to be at work, like Lincoln currently was. But there came his boss, holdingthe phone and telling him it was his brother.  
Startling and concerning was the nothing that Michael was for some reason at home and trying to get a hold of him. Terrifying was answering _'Michael?'_ and hearing a grown man reply.  
"Lincoln Burrows?"  
There have been a few times in Lincoln's life that he thought his heart might stop. Once or twice while still experimenting with his drugs. The first time he witnessed one of Michael's blackouts. The first time one of those blackouts came with a very irrational Michael clawing at his stomach, absolutely positive that he had to get the knot - or in otherwords, the feeling of anxiety - out physically.

He thinks this might take the cake.  
"Yeah?" He croaks after what was probably far too long of a pause, his manager staring at him like she thought he was going to hurl.  
"I'm your brother's employer. There's been an accident- nothing serious, but we do need you to come and pick him up. I recommend to a clinic to be safe."  
"What-- what happened? Is he alright? Why isn't he calling me himself?"  
"He burnt his hand, its.. really his hand isn't the problem. I'll explain more when you get here."

And that was that. His manager at this job was more understanding than previous ones, letting him go with a warm smile rather than a glare or a threat to his employment.  
He arrives half an hour after the phone call, makes a B-line for the counter and explains with still rilled nerves who he was. He's then directed to the manager, who pulls him aside when he tries to look through the tiny window in the door to the _employees only_ section

"He's fine, better now than when I called." The man assures him.  
"What happened?" Lincoln demands for what felt like the tenth time.  
"No one saw what happened, the cook found him by he stove. He tried talking to him, and so did I, we just couldn't get anything out of him." An episode by the sound of it, at work of all places. Lincoln wished knowing what it was reassured him more than it did.  
"He's okay though? Is he talking yet?"  
The manager looks at him as if he wasn't understanding the situation. "He's okay. The burn is blistering some, so it is a second degree and I think it should be looked at by a professional just to be safe, but he's alright."  
"And the talking thing?"  
"Some. Mostly just apologizing."

"God, Michael.." He sighs, shaking his head at the floor.  
"I wanted to ask you, if he was alright? He's had some.. Hes different, I've realized that, but it's never been like this, never disrupted anything. He's been no trouble up until now but if he's danger to anyone, himself included, I'd like to know."  
"The fuck does that mean?" The words are past his lips before he can think twice.  
"I didn't mean it like-"  
"Like what? Like something's wrong with him--"

"Linc." Michael snaps through the now open door to the back. His eyes are tired and red, but at least his face didn't look puffy.

The drive home is quiet. Michael apologized about five times. Three of which were to his manager. When Lincoln asks about it he was met with an absolutely exhausted sigh and dropped it. They focused on treating his hand instead.


End file.
